He cupped her face with one hand, took her lips slow, slow, deep, deeper, until he felt her melt into his bed of feathers and flowers.

He could seduce, degree by degree, give them both the sumptuous. She smelled of the sea, tasted of honey. And under his hands her skin was soft as satin.

On impulse he ran his hands through her hair, scattered tiny rosebuds through it. Looked down to enjoy the way it spread and tumbled over his bower.

“You look like a faerie queen. If I had your gift, I would paint you just like this. Or . . .” He waved a finger through the air, and she was naked but for a scatter of flower petals.

“Oh!” Instinctively, she lifted a hand to cover her breasts, but he caught it, brought it to his lips as he skimmed his gaze over her.

“Yes, just like this. I’m commissioning you to do this self-portrait. Name your price,” he murmured and took her mouth again.

How could she have known she could float and fly, could soar and dive all at the same time? That she could burn and shudder. And want, want, want.

His mouth took hers with soul-deep kisses and whispered words she didn’t understand. And his hands glided over her, awakening fresh thrills.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, then his tongue, stirring something deep in her belly. Then his mouth closed over her, and that stirring, that pulling flashed into a fast, shocking leap of pleasure.

She cried out from it, arched up as it struck like an arrow.

“You’re quick,” he murmured.

“What? What?”

“Just the start. Just a sample.” He pressed his lips to her thundering heart. “This time you’ll take, and taking, you give.”

He gripped her hands with his, as her touch, her explorations tempted him to rush. So he used only his mouth on her, roaming down her torso, pleasing himself when her belly quivered under his tongue.

She moaned for him, moved for him, and the mix of her need and surrender sparked like a wire in his blood. Another time he would give in to that, another time he would let that hunger loose. But now he would seduce her, now he would torment them both.

He brushed his lips over her thigh, and then his tongue along the vulnerable line beside her center. And his teeth, lightly, lightly, until her breath became long, sighing moans, until her body undulated.

He found her warm and wet, so ready to fly up again.

It was like being showered with warm liquid gold, showered with melted jewels. Every inch of her sparkled, shone, glimmered, gleamed. The world was warm and soft, and smothered in flowers, drenched in moonlight.

And the world was only him.

As his mouth came back to hers again, as her hands were free to touch and stroke, she thought nothing could ever be more beautiful.

“Will you look at me now? Look at me, Sasha.”